


Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Except Me)

by kelios



Category: Supernatural, Wincest - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, Somnophilia, Wincest - Freeform, presumed non con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3867466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelios/pseuds/kelios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Maybe it’s my turn to have something good,” Dean mutters to the sleeping figure on the bed. “Maybe it’s my turn to take what I want.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Title: Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Except Me)  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Wincest  
Warnings: somniphilia, non-con  
Summary: “Maybe it’s my turn to have something good,” Dean mutters to the sleeping figure on the bed. “Maybe it’s my turn to take what I want.”

A/N: Written for this Masquerade prompt: Dean screws Sam when he's knocked out from a hunt (or whatever other scenario). Bonus if it's their first time and Dean feels tons of guilt, but does it anyway. 

Migraines had never been a problem at Stanford, or even the first year or so after Sam started hunting again. But lately, they’d been coming on more and more frequently, and Dean could definitely tell the signs by now. When Sam winced at the afternoon sun and climbed in the back seat instead of shotgun at the gas station, Dean knew it was time to find someplace dark and quiet to hole up for a while.

It didn’t take long to find a cheap roadside motel. Sam didn’t say anything, just smiled gratefully when Dean dragged him into the shadowy room and pulled the blackout curtains.

“Here,” Dean said, digging out a bottle of pills that had originally been prescribed for Herman Munster. Dean was pretty sure they were still codeine--they were painkillers of some sort, that much he knew, and Sam wasn't allergic to any of them. “Take a couple of these with a shot of whiskey and get some rest. I’ll go find some dinner for later.” He knew it was bad when Sam didn’t offer even a token objection, just smiled painfully and mumbled _thanks man_ under his breath.

Dean closed the door gently on his way out, double checking the lock before taking a deep breath of cool air and ambling over to the Impala. It was still early for dinner, but they’d passed a dive on the way into town…he could spend an hour replenishing their cash supply—never knew when they’d need a little extra.

It was actually closer to four hours before Dean pulled back into the hotel parking lot. He’d had a run of luck that wouldn’t quit—all of it good. He’d taken the local bad boy for just over $500, garnered plenty of free drinks and a couple of phone numbers as well. Maybe if Sam felt up to it they’d celebrate, go someplace decent for dinner instead of the local grease factory. Dean’s dick twitched a little at the thought of Sam dressed up, hair falling in silky waves around his face as he smiled at Dean while licking salt off the rim of his glass. Maybe not the best idea...but Dean was definitely storing that scenario away for his shower the next morning.

Sam was still passed out when Dean unlocked the door. Dean didn't try to keep the noise down as he cleaned up—usually Sam was good to go with a couple hours of sleep after a migraine, and Dean figured this night would be no different. But Sam was still in the same position as when Dean got back—facedown on the bed in t-shirt and boxers, hair spilling over his cheek onto the pillow. Dean watched him breathe for a few moments before carefully stroking the hair back off Sam’s face, savoring the slipslide of the silky strands over his fingers.

Sam didn’t stir, not even when Dean traced the delicate shell of his ear with one trembling finger before pulling back, shocked at his own daring. Dean knows this sickness he feels only goes one way, and he’s never tried to force his desires on Sam. But he rarely gets to see Sam like this, and it’s making him think thoughts he should never, ever think.

Dean grabs the bottle of whiskey off the nightstand and takes a healthy slug, never taking his eyes off Sam.

“Sam?” he says softly. “Hey, Sammy, wake up, man.” Dean rests his hand on Sam’s shoulder, a move normally guaranteed to bring his brother fully awake in seconds, alert and ready for whatever danger might be in the room. This time Sam doesn’t even stir, dead to the world if not for the faint rise and fall of his chest.

Dean leaves his hand where it is as he takes another drink, enjoying the firm muscle just one thin layer of cloth away. “Never understood why you wear so many layers, Sammy,” he whispers, voice slurring a little. “Nothing to be ashamed of.” He lets his hand follow his eyes down Sam’s back, firm muscles leading to a narrow waist. He stops himself before his fingers reach the edge of Sam’s tshirt and the thin stripe of skin showing itself above the edge of his worn boxers, then lets them dance for a brief moment over the golden warmth.

“Fuck,” Dean whispers harshly, jerking his hand back. Then, reverently, “Sammy…” He hesitates an instant before flattening his hand over the warm skin, fingers curling and stroking. A shiver runs up Sam’s spine, but he doesn’t move beyond that, just a shiver and a sigh.

Dean doesn’t know what he’s thinking, can’t believe what he’s doing.

He falls to his knees next to the bed, now mostly empty bottle slipping from his fingers. He keeps one hand on Sam’s back, moving slowly back and forth, fingers growing bolder with each second that Sam remains asleep. He lowers his head slowly and breathes out gently over Sam’s skin, watches goosebumps run over the thin patch, feels the warmth blow back against his lips. He’s dizzy, drunk on far more than a few beers and a couple swallows of whiskey, intoxicated by the sight and smell and feel of his brother’s body. 

_Just one taste,_ he thinks dizzily.  _Just one and I’ll stop._ But he knows it's not true. Even as his lips graze Sam’s skin, tongue flicking out over smooth skin, even as he moans and palms his achingly hard cock through his jeans, he knows it’s not enough. The hand stroking Sam’s back slides lower, slipping over the firm muscles of Sam’s ass, massaging and kneading, fingers pressing into the cleft through the cloth. Sam whines softly in his sleep, hips pushing up into Dean’s hand, and Dean freezes, the enormity of what he’s doing striking him hard and fast. 

“Dean,” Sam sighs, and pushes his hips into the mattress. 

Dean stands up, staggering back away from his brother, but Sam doesn’t move or speak again. His breathing evens out again, and Dean eases closer, mind spinning crazily. He knows what he heard, knows what he wants it to mean, but what if he’s wrong? What if Sam won’t admit it, won’t accept what they both want?

The thought makes Dean a little crazy. He pushes everything else out of his mind as he kicks off his shoes and pops the button on his jeans, shoving them down. He groans a little in relief as the pressure on his aching cock eases a little, and he stares down at his brother, wondering how much he dares. 

“Maybe it’s my turn to have something good,” Dean mutters to the sleeping figure on the bed. “Maybe it’s my turn to take what I want.” He laughs a little wildly, bitterly. “I’m already going to hell, right? I might as well make sure I deserve it.”

A quick search of Sam’s duffle turns up a half empty bottle of lube, more than enough for what Dean wants. He doesn’t want to hurt Sam, not even a little bit. If anything he wants Sam to think of this as a dream, maybe want it again. He tosses the bottle on the bed, hooks trembling fingers in the waistband of Sam’s boxers and tugs. 

Inch after inch of gorgeous skin slowly comes into view. Dean wants to touch it all, taste it all, but he holds back, waits until the offending cloth is on the floor and Sam’s ass and legs are on full display. Dean’s mouth waters at the sight, and he can’t help running his hands up those long, long legs, cupping firm muscle until he can pull the cheeks of Sam’s ass apart and finally see where he wants to be. 

Sam is a little restless now, soft sounds that might be Dean’s name falling from his lips as Dean rubs his face over the soft skin of Sam’s ass, licking and nipping every inch. The scent is overwhelming, musky and rich with sweat and arousal. Dean thinks he could do this for hours, but he knows he doesn’t have time, and his dick is throbbing with the need to be buried inside Sam. He licks a stripe over Sam’s hole and feels it contract, feels Sam’s body react to his warmth and the shock of cool air after the heat of Dean’s tongue. He does it again, and again, spreading Sam’s legs to lick and tongue the base of Sam’s balls as well, already regretting that he won’t get to suck Sam’s undoubtedly beautiful cock. But he contents himself with licking Sam open, straightening his tongue and pushing it in, slow and sure. His fingers follow, slick with lube, one then another, reveling in the tight heat of Sam’s body, refusing to let himself think about never having this again. 

Dean loses himself in Sam’s body for awhile, in the slick sound of his fingers sliding in and out of tight, wet heat. Sam’s hole is stretched and red, glistening, as Dean slips another finger in. Sam is restless again, moaning under his breath, rocking his hips into the bed and back onto Dean’s hand. It’s the hottest thing Dean’s ever seen or done, and he almost hates to stop. But he can’t ignore the throbbing in his cock and his balls now, drawn up tight and painfully hard. He pulls his fingers out slowly, almost losing it when Sam whines and chases them unconsciously, another sound that might be  _Dean please_ slipping out into the heated air. 

Dean slides on a condom and slicks it up before rising up onto his knees. He runs his clean hand through Sam’s sweaty hair. “Gonna take care of you, Sammy,” he murmurs, “I promise.” 

Sam quiets under his hand, and Dean rubs the head of his cock over Sam’s stretched, red hole before he starts to push, drawing out the anticipation. He moans as Sam clenches around the intrusion and grips the base of his cock, afraid this will be over before it begins. He grits his teeth and whispers  _sorry Sammy_ as he gives a tiny shove of his hips, just enough to force the blunt head of his dick inside. Sam murmurs fretfully and tries to pull away, but Dean holds him still, self control in shreds as he slides with torturous patience into his brother’s body. 

Finally, he’s in, balls pressed tight to Sam’s ass, cock fully encased in slick, searing heat. He wants to move, thinks he might die if he doesn’t fuck Sam right fucking now, but he forces himself to wait, to give Sam time to adjust, even if he doesn’t realize. 

Gradually the crushing tightness eases slightly and with a moan that’s almost a sob Dean starts to move, rocking carefully inside Sam. He strokes Sam’s back, every inch that he can reach, determined to savor every sensation, store them away in case he’s never allowed to do this again. 

But soon it’s too much, and he starts to move faster, pushing in harder, feverishly building a steady rhythm that he realizes Sam is trying to match underneath him. Each push knocks a breathy moan out of Sam, hands clenching in the sheets as he writhes under Dean.

It’s so much better than Dean ever expected, and he’s on the edge sooner than he wants to be. He lets go of Sam’s hips, balancing himself on one hand as he pushes the other underneath Sam’s body, suddenly desperate to feel Sam come around him before it’s over. The angle is beyond awkward, but it doesn’t take much—Sam is hard and leaking, rutting down against the bedspread as Dean fucks into him, hitting his prostrate as often as he can, twisting his wrist and thumbing the head of Sam’s cock on every awkward stroke. In moments, Sam’s entire body shakes with the force of his release, clamping down on Dean’s cock and covering his hand with slick. Dean moans, working his hips as best he can, the aftershocks of Sam’s pleasure feeding back into his own. He pulls himself back up and thrusts hard through the spasms, once—twice—again--and he’s done, body arching as he empties himself into his brother. 

Dean collapses on top of Sam, harsh breaths and gasps mingling as they both come down from the high. Dean realizes he can’t stay here long—Sam’s face is already starting to scrunch in discomfort. With a sigh Dean pulls himself up and carefully out of his brother’s body and staggers into the bathroom. The condom goes into the toilet, and he cleans himself up before returning to the bedroom, long habit turning the motions into autopilot. He smiles to himself in the mirror, high on wonder and endorphins. 

That feeling disappears as soon as he leaves the bathroom. Sam looks completely debauched, sweaty and used, with lube smeared and leaking from his puffy red hole. His lips are swollen where he’s bitten them, and Dean is pretty sure there’s going to be at least one set of bruises on his hips. Dean's dick twitches at the sight, _mine mine mine_ throbbing through him for a split second before the realization of what he's done takes it's place.

There’s no way Sam isn’t going to realize something is wrong. And no way Dean can defend himself. Dean staggers to the other bed and collapses in horror at the sudden weight of guilt crushing him. He just raped his little brother. He doesn’t sugar coat it for himself, doesn’t make any excuses. It’s clear what he’s done, and now…now he’s going to have to live with the consequences. 

Dean closes his eyes and thinks, bleakly, that hell will be a vacation compared to this.   



	2. Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to Me (Especially Not You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel (of sorts) to Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Except Me) told from Sam's POV  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Warnings: Wincest, simulated non-con

Dean drives Sam crazy with his mother henning, there’s no doubt about that. But days like today? When Sam is ready to find a crossroad and beg whatever demon shows up to make the pain to go away? He’s grateful that he doesn’t have to say a word for Dean to know just what he needs. He crawls into the backseat and pulls off his flannel overshirt, balling it up into a pillow with just enough left to cover his eyes. It doesn’t make the pain go away, but it helps enough he can pretend he’s not going to gouge his own eyes out with a spork the first chance he gets.

 

The motel Dean chooses is a little nicer than their usual fare. Hiding in the back seat means Sam doesn’t know if Dean chose it on purpose or if it was the only game in town. Then again, Sam doesn’t actually care about anything right now except Dean pulling the blackout curtains and dropping the room into blessed darkness. Sam collapses on the bed farthest from the door, not even bothering to take off his shoes, but Dean’s having none of that.

 

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean says with that gentleness he reserves for true fuckedupness. “If you get mud on the bed you’ll bitch all night, and I’m not switching with you.” He pulls off Sam’s boots and socks, then tugs on the hem of his jeans. Sam groans, but Dean just tugs again. “Go on,” Dean orders. “You know you’ll be more comfortable.” He turns away as Sam mutters _bossy_ under his breath but pops the button on his jeans and shoves them off and onto the floor before sprawling facedown across the bed.

 

Dean’s right. He is more comfortable. When Sam’s like this, he hates it more than usual when Dean’s right, but that doesn’t stop him from accepting the pills Dean offers on his way out the door.

 

“Gonna hit that bar a few miles back, see if I can scare up some reserve cash,” Dean says, speaking as quietly as he can. “Maybe we’ll celebrate when I get back, yeah?”

 

Sam does his best to smile, but judging by Dean’s wince he probably doesn’t succeed. He waits for the door to close before he swallows the pills dry, pointedly ignoring the bottle of whiskey Dean had set on the nightstand. He’d rather not asphyxiate on his own vomit, thanks. He closes his eyes, buries his face in the pillow, and does his best to relax.

 

*****************

 

Sam comes awake gradually. Fingers slip across his cheek, stroking his hair, his ear. He knows it’s Dean, he’d know Dean’s hands anywhere, but this…Dean has never touched him like this before, so much gentleness, so much tenderness. Sam knows he should stir, give Dean a chance to move away, but he can’t. He can’t. Not yet. He just wants a few more moments for himself, no matter how selfish he feels.

 

Dean pulls in a shaky breath, and Sam hears the cap from the bottle of whiskey hit the nightstand as Dean takes a long drink. Then his hand lands on Sam’s shoulder, heavy and warm. “Sam?” he says. “Hey, Sammy, wake up, man.”

 

Sam doesn’t stir. He just wants one more moment of Dean’s attention to savor, that’s it, then he’ll sit up and they’ll go out to dinner and everything will be fine. He hears Dean take another drink, hand still gentle and firm on his shoulder.

“Never understood why you wear so many layers, Sammy,” Dean says quietly. Sam can hear the slur in his words, but it’s still a shock when Dean trails his hand down Sam’s back in a warm caress. He can’t help a twinge of disappointment when Dean stops right before his fingers stroke the bare skin between his t-shirt and his boxers. Then he feels it, the rough callouses of Dean’s fingers on his skin as Dean lets himself touch.

 

Sam bites back a moan, fights not to arch into Dean’s touch. “Fuck,” he hears Dean whisper. Then, “Sammy” almost reverently, almost like a prayer as he flattens his hand on the bare skin of Sam’s back, stroking the smooth skin. This time Sam can’t stop the shiver that rolls through him, can’t help the whimper that escapes as he realizes with instant clarity that he has no intention of stopping this, that he’s going to take whatever Dean will give him regardless of the consequences.

 

Dean falls to his knees next to the bed, and the press of his lips against Sam’s hip nearly undoes him. It’s all Sam can do to keep quiet as Dean moans against his skin, and all his good intentions disappear completely as Dean’s restless hands grip and knead Sam’s ass. Sam’s body takes over, bucking up against the fingers pushing against his sensitive opening, wanting more.

 

“Dean,” Sam moans helplessly, grinding down against the mattress. He’s already almost painfully hard, years of pent up desire filling his cock and fogging his brain far more than the painkillers he’d taken earlier. Dean jerks his hand back as if burned, and it takes all of Sam’s willpower not to beg Dean to touch him again. Sam forces himself to lay still, ears straining. He can hear Dean breathing, panting almost, then the sound of Dean’s zipper easing down almost breaks his resolve again. Dean groans a little, but doesn’t touch Sam, and Sam’s mind spins crazily at the thought of Dean jerking off on his back, _on his face oh God_ , branding him, changing him forever.

 

But it doesn’t happen, even though Sam hears the rattle of Dean’s belt as it hits the floor. Sam doesn’t let himself move, hoping that Dean will finish what he started.

 

Sam’s concentrating so hard on staying still that he almost misses what Dean’s saying. “Maybe it’s my turn to have something good,” Dean mutters roughly, and Sam feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. “Maybe it’s my turn to just take what I want.”

 

And fuck if that doesn’t turn Sam on even more, the idea that Dean—fiercely protective, loving Dean, the brother who has never done anything but care for Sam their whole lives—the idea that Dean could so lose himself to this thing between them, could let himself go far enough to simply take what he wants for once in his life.  It’s messed up, Sam gets that—he should be pissed as hell by what Dean is doing. But all he can feel is relief twisted up with desire and want so strong he isn’t sure he can control himself long enough not to screw it all up.

 

Dean’s voice tapers off, muttering under his breath as something thumps onto the bed next to Sam and the mattress dips under Dean’s weight. Sam tries to breathe normally, but that goes out the window when Dean pushes Sam’s shirt up, baring more skin to the cool motel room air. Sam gasps when Dean hooks his fingers in Sam’s boxers, tugging them down so slowly it’s torture. He can’t help himself, whimpering into the pillow and rutting into the mattress as Dean runs his hands up Sam’s legs, groaning under his breath at the feel of Sam’s skin under his hands. His cock, wet and hard, brushes Sam’s leg, dotting the skin with precome as Sam tries desperately to remain still enough not to give himself away. He feels like he could come just from this, just from Dean’s hands cupping, kneading the smooth, firm muscle of his ass as he gently spreads Sam open.

 

 _Fuck fuck fuck_ Sam thinks wildly. There’s no way he can stay quiet for this, no way he won’t give himself away. His hips have a mind of their own, grinding into the coarse hotel comforter in a way that’s almost as much pain as pleasure. He can hear Dean whispering over him, but he can’t make out the words except his name _Sammy Sammy Sammy_ which seems appropriate since Sam can’t seem to say anything but _Dean_.

 

Sam moans, almost a sob, as Dean leans forward to blow warm air over his hole then lick the tender skin. Dean hasn’t shaved since morning, and his stubble burns deliciously against Sam’s skin, the contrast driving him wild. Dean seems to realize what he’s doing to Sam, rubbing his face all over, nipping and outright biting in between licking over Sam’s hole and balls, driving Sam insane. Finally, finally he stops teasing and pushes his tongue inside the tight ring of muscle. Sam can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but writhe helplessly underneath Dean, moaning Dean’s name like a prayer, begging for more as quietly as he can. _Tomorrow_ , he thinks wildly, _tomorrow he’s going push Dean onto the bed and ride his face until they both come, until Sam can scream his pleasure as loudly as he wants._

 

Dean pulls back after a few minutes, sweet relief that only makes Sam more desperate when Dean replaces his mouth with his fingers. Dean twists them, stretching and pulling, and God, Sam is going to lose it any second. Dean finds his prostate and strokes him mercilessly, relentlessly. Sam bites his lip so hard he’s surprised he can’t taste blood, doesn’t think he can take much more even though he never wants it to end. He nearly sobs with relief when Dean finally tugs his fingers free even as he can’t help rocking back against Dean’s hand in protest at the same time.

 

Dean doesn’t make him wait long. Sam hears the crinkle of a condom wrapper, Dean’s hiss of pleasure as he slides it on, and then he’s back. He rubs the head of is dick over Sam’s swollen, sensitive hole, teasing again, and Sam tenses in anticipation. Dean pushes forward, finally, then stops when he feels how tight Sam still is. Sam does his best to hold still, but it _hurts_ when Dean shoves, soft apology soothing Sam along with his hands as Dean strokes his back and hair gently. Dean works his way in slowly, murmuring praise and love _so good for me Sammy, so beautiful look so pretty on my cock_ and it’s so amazing, each slow, steady stroke wracking Sam’s body with pleasure like he’s never felt.

 

Dean stops when he’s finally all the way in, Sam gasping underneath him, shuddering at how amazing it feels to be so full of Dean. His brother only gives him a moment to adjust before he’s pulling out again, thrusting back in harder this time, setting up a rhythm that Sam tries to match. Dean’s hands are locked onto Sam’s hips, hauling Sam up and back to meet him with every thrust, and Sam can’t wait to see the bruises he’s going to have tomorrow, to press them and savor this moment again. He groans when Dean slows, suddenly, then rearranges himself against Sam’s back so that he can force his hand underneath Sam. Dean gets a hand on Sam’s cock, warm and rough and calloused and Sam loses it, two strokes and he’s coming harder than he ever has in his life, twisting and writhing under his brother like he’s possessed, biting his lip so hard tears spring to his eyes as he tries not to cry out.

 

Dean fucks him through the aftershocks, hard and fast and if he could Sam thinks he’d be getting hard again because there’s something about being used, about being fucked for nothing but Dean’s pleasure that lights something inside of him on _fire_. He feels Dean tighten, feels him pulse against the condom and shudders again, wishing he could feel Dean bare inside him. Dean collapses on top of him, heavy and warm, for a brief moment before pulling out and away. Sam wishes Dean would stay, adds the idea of wrapping himself happy and spent around his brother to his list of things he’s going to do tomorrow and hopefully every day for as the foreseeable future.

 

Dean rolls off the bed and staggers into the bathroom. Sam smiles and stretches, enjoying the ache in his ass and hips, imagining the bruises he’s going to have in the morning. He’s tired, blissed out from possibly the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced on top of the residual painkillers still in his system. He’s trying to keep his eyes from drifting closed as his mind tries to turn itself off, needing to stay awake until Dean comes back, but it’s a losing battle. 

 

********

Sam’s still asleep when Dean comes back out of the bathroom, still sprawled facedown on the bed. The sight hits Dean like a punch to the gut. Sam looks debauched, fucked out and used, and all he can think is how gorgeous Sam looks like this, how much he wants to fall into bed next to his brother and do all of this again the next morning.

 

That doesn’t last long.

 

Sam looks debauched, used. He’s bruised, swollen, covered in lube and come. Dean did that, Dean _raped_ his brother, and the shocked realization knocks the breath out of him. He collapses on the empty bed, sick with guilt and horror.

 

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean whispers hoarsely. “God, I’m so sorry.”

 

After a moment Dean forces himself to stand, goes into the bathroom again and comes out with a warm wet cloth. He cleans Sam as gently and carefully as he can, wiping up drying lube and come. Dean, Sam sighs, shifting, arching into Dean’s touch as if he craves it. It hurts Dean’s heart—he doesn’t deserve even this much acknowledgement from Sam, doesn’t deserve to touch him again, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t hide what happened here, but he hopes this might make Sam feel less violated when he wakes, and—selfishly--Dean knows this is probably the last time he’ll ever touch Sam, take care of him, and he wants to savor it. To remember. If he can take any memory to hell, let it be this.

 

Dean shifts Sam gently onto his side, away from the cooling wetness underneath him. He wipes Sam down carefully, then pulls Sam’s discarded boxers up over his hips before grabbing the coverlet from the other bed and tucking it in around his brother. Sam shifts onto his side almost immediately, hair falling over his eyes, and Dean has to resist the sickening urge to push it away, knowing he can never trust himself to do that again.

 

After a few moments of watching Sam sleep, Dean turns away, more determined than ever to do the right thing. He grabs a clean pair of boxers from his duffle and dresses quickly, grateful that he hadn’t had a chance to unpack anything yet. In a matter of minutes he’s ready to go, three quick steps to the door before he stops with his hand on the knob, caught by the pen and paper next to the phone.

 

 _I’m sorry, Sam_ is all he manages to scrawl before his vision blurs, but it will have to be enough. He closes the door behind him as quietly as he can, sits in the Impala with his head resting against the steering wheel as he finally lets the tears drip down his face. It hurts, having his heart ripped out of his chest with his own hands, but he knows he has no one to blame but himself. _It's better this way_ , he tells himself bleakly, and puts the car into drive and pulls away into the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after isn't quite what Sam hoped it would be.

Sam wakes up happy. He stretches luxuriously, enjoying the pull and ache in his muscles before he realizes he’s half dressed again. A frown creases his forehead as he shakes off his sleep fog and realizes how quiet it is. Dean isn’t breathing in the bed next to his, the shower isn’t running.

The thread of unease running through Sam grows as he sits up and sees that Dean’s jacket isn’t thrown over the back of the desk chair like he’d expect it to be. His unease grows into something approaching panic as he looks around and sees that Dean’s duffle is gone as well. The realization that he’s misjudged everything hits him like a dash of cold water and he grabs his phone off the nightstand, fingers shaking as he punches in the only number he knows by heart. 

The phone rings on the seat next to him but Dean doesn’t pick up. He knows it’s Sam--the kid is nothing if not predictable. He grips the wheel tighter, determined not to answer, ignoring the voice in his head telling him he’s making his biggest mistake yet. 

Sam listens to the phone ring, tinny and distant. He doesn’t leave a message this time. If Dean wants to talk to him, he will. Sam doesn’t let himself think about what it means if Dean doesn’t call him back.

Sam stays at the motel where Dean left him for three days, hoping that Dean will come back. He knows it’s pointless--he found Dean’s note and once his head cleared from sleep and painkillers he knows just how badly he screwed up. They both did. He spends the first day beating himself up, playing it back in his mind over and over, hating himself for how badly he wants Dean’s hands on him again. The second day he wakes up angry, at himself and at Dean. He almost takes off then, determined to let his brother go his own way if that's what he really wants. But the thought of Dean’s deal, that he might never see his brother again, that Dean might go to hell thinking he raped his brother--he spends the next hour in the bathroom retching up the cheap coffee from the motel lobby.

The third day--it’s after midnight, so it counts as a new day in Sam’s mind--he finally calls Bobby. Sam doesn’t have much hope that Dean will go to their old friend, but he needs to touch base himself, and Bobby loves Dean like a son. He deserves to know what’s happening, or at least the results. 

“We had a fight, Bobby. Dean left,” Sam repeats slowly for what feels like the hundredth time. “He took the Impala and he’s not answering his phone.”

Sam listens again then says in frustration, “Does it matter what we fought about? He thinks he did something wrong, that he deserves to go to hell. He thinks he hurt me, but he didn’t. It was just as much my fault as it was his, but he didn’t stick around long enough for me to say so and now he’s gone!”

The silence on the other end tells Sam he may have gone a little too far. Sam waits for Bobby to figure it out and hang up on him, but after a too long moment Bobby clears his throat. “Well, if you say it’s...uh...personal, then that’s good enough I guess. You got any ideas where he might go?”

“No,” Sam whispers miserably. “If he were trying to hide from anyone else I could find him easy enough, but he’s trying to hide from _me_.”

More silence on the other end tells Sam that Bobby is having just as much trouble processing this as Sam is.

“We’ve got to find him, Bobby. He’s got less than a year left and he won’t even try to save himself. We’ve got to find him.”

“Sam…” Bobby’s voice is cautious, careful. Like he thinks Sam might break under the weight of any more bad news. “Did he tell you about the terms of his deal?”

Sam laughs bitterly. “You mean like how I die if Dean lifts a finger to save himself? Yeah, I dragged it out of him eventually. But that doesn’t mean we can’t save him, Bobby. It just means…” Sam trails off as he realizes the answer is staring him in the face. 

“Just keep looking, Bobby,” he says, too quickly. “I will too. I’ve got a few ideas, not much, but they could pan out.” 

“Don’t you do anything stupid, Sam,” Bobby warns. “One idjit per family is plenty. And you...you boys are like my own sons. I can’t lose you both, you hear me?” The barely there tremble in Bobby’s voice hurts Sam’s heart, but Sam can’t let Bobby’s feelings stop him. There’s too much at stake, and Sam won’t risk losing Dean again. He hardens his resolve to see this through and do whatever he has to in order to save Dean.

“You won’t lose us, Bobby,” Sam promises quietly. As he hangs up he tells himself he’s not lying--at least one of them will survive. Sam will see to that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam will do whatever he must to bring Dean back.

Sam starts gathering the tools and supplies he’ll need to put his plan in motion, a cold, stark clarity settling in his mind. He forces himself to think about the possibility that even if this works, even if he finds Dean and brings him back, he still might lose him. His hands work on autopilot, drawing the symbols and setting out candles for a ritual that shouldn’t be as familiar as it is. 

Finally, the last piece is in place and Sam accepts that he’s going to do this, that if it will let him talk to Dean one more time, if it will give him even a chance at spending their last days together, then it’s worth it. He begins the chant, Latin dripping from his tongue as easily as English at this point, until he gets to the final word. He hesitates for just a moment, then spits it out before he can change his mind. 

“Ruby.” 

For long moments, nothing happens. Sam starts to worry--they hadn’t parted on good terms. Sam had refused to do what she insisted was necessary if he was going to destroy Lilith and save Dean, and the demon had left in a rage after Sam threatened to exorcise her if that’s what it took to force her away. It wasn’t impossible that she would ignore his summons, but Sam had a feeling she would show. If she didn’t...well. There were other ways to get what he wanted, and Sam was willing to try them all. 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Sam Winchester, the man who wouldn’t be king.” Sam startles at the demon’s sudden appearance in the summoning circle, even though he’d been waiting. “Slumming, are we, Sam? Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.” Ruby arranges her face in an expression of mock concern. “How have you been, Sam? How’s that brother of yours? Still going to Hell in a handbasket?”

The words stick in Sam’s throat, but he forces them out anyway. “I need your help.”

“Not even a hello, Sam? Really? No ‘how have you been, Ruby?’, no ‘it’s nice to see you again, Ruby!’?” She sneers, crossing her arms over her chest. “No “Well, looks like you were right after all, Ruby’? Come on, Sam. You can grovel better than that.”

Sam ignores her taunting. “I need you to find Dean and bring him back here, Ruby. He left and I can’t find him.”

Surprise flickers across the demon’s face, followed by a split second of concentration before she bursts into laughter. “Oh. Oh, Sam. You _have_ been naughty without me, haven’t you? And so has Dean. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised--”

“Can you do it or not?” Sam forces himself not to shout. _You need her help_ , he reminds himself. “And stay out of my head.” 

“But it’s so pretty in there, Sam!” She laughs again, shaking her head, then gets serious again. “If I _do_ help you, what’s in it for me? I don’t work for free, Sam. And you know my price.”

“I’ll do what you wanted me to before,” Sam says through gritted teeth. He feels unclean just saying the words. “You wanted me to learn to use my powers and destroy Lilith. I’ll do it.”

“And what else did I want, Sam?” Ruby asks silkily. “Are you willing to pay the _full_ price?”

Sam doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes. Find Dean and bring him back here and I’ll--I’ll drink your blood to strengthen my powers.” 

Ruby claps delightedly. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.” She flicks her fingers and a knife appears in her hand. She offers it to Sam hilt first. “No time like the present, Sammy.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Sam says coldly. He doesn’t move to take the knife. “Bring me Dean first, alive and unharmed, and then I’ll drink.”

Ruby rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. I wasn’t born yesterday, Sam. I need at least a token of good faith.” She smiles, a twisted parody of human feeling. “One little drink, Sam. Then I’ll bring Dean right to you, bound and maybe even gagged, if you two crazy kids are into that sort of thing.”

Sam just stares at her for a moment, considering. “Just bound,” he says at last. It’s not the best option, it will hardly make Dean trust him, but he can’t have his brother running away as soon as he realizes Sam is in the room too. Of course, sending a demon to bring him home isn’t exactly going to make happy either. 

“You never cease to surprise me, Sam,” Ruby says, shaking her head. “Now, about that token…” She waves the knife impatiently.

“Fine,” Sam says, trying not to be sick. He steps forward, into the circle, but he doesn’t take the knife from Ruby’s hand. Instead, he brings up the demon knife she’d given him when they started this twisted relationship, slashing her arm in one quick movement. Lights flare and flash under her skin and she curses in surprise and anger. One flick of her uninjured arm sends Sam flying across the room and into the wall. 

“You bastard,” she hisses, cradling her injured wrist. 

Sam shakes his head and blinks, then smiles. “Waste not, want not,” he says calmly, and brings the knife to his lips, licking the black ichor from the blade. It tastes vile, iron and sulfur and rotting meat but he forces himself not to gag as he cleans both sides. It burns the inside of his mouth and throat as he swallows audibly and he feels nauseous and light headed. “Is that enough for you?” he asks unsteadily. 

Ruby shakes her head, a cruel smile playing over her lips. “Oh, Sammy,” she sighs. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment.” She holds out her wounded arm, black oozing from the cut and adding to the stains on the carpet. “Now let’s get this show on the road.”

Sam stands carefully and walks on shaky legs to the center of the circle where she’s waiting. He stares down at her for a long moment, lips pressed thin, then opens his mouth and begins to drink. 

The taste and feel of it drives him to his knees. It coats his tongue and throat like sticky, foul tasting syrup, it burns like acid. His stomach lurches with every swallow, and he can feel the power from it invading every part of his body. He wonders, dimly, just how much this will change him. A few drops when he was six months old made him psychic and telekinetic; what will this do to him? He drinks until he can’t anymore, determined to see it through even with his vision narrowing down to pinpoints and the power screaming through his veins like fire. 

He doesn’t so much let go of her arm as fall to the floor. He can see her smirking down at him, barely, so far away. 

“Aww, poor Sammy. Probably shouldn’t have taken so much your first time around--it’s a bit of an acquired taste. Now, why don’t you be a dear and scratch through this circle so I can go fetch your brother? I’m sure you have a lot of _catching up_ to do.”

With the last of his strength Sam scrapes through the paint holding the demon in place. “Nighty-night, Sammy,” she coos, and then the world goes dark.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ruby laughs again. “You’d be surprised, Dean-o. Turns out that with the right incentive--say, for example, never seeing or hearing from his brother again--Sam will do a lot of things no one would expect._

Consciousness comes back like a badly tuned radio. Sam can hear voices, fading in and out, arguing heatedly, but the words don’t really make sense at first.

_\--be fine. Just--_

_\--fucking kill you--_

_\--ease you--stand--moron_

Instinct makes him stay where he is, trying to assess the situation. He remembers passing out, vaguely--he’s still lying on the floor, the demon knife trapped under his body and luckily not _in_ his body. His head is clearing enough to follow the conversation, which he can tell now is between Dean and Ruby. A wave of relief washes over him at the realization that she’d upheld her end of the bargain and brought his brother home. 

“You know, you and Sam--it’s always been a matter of some debate.” Ruby’s voice is sly, taunting. “I had 10 souls down that the two of you would never actually have the balls--” she laughs at her own wit-- ”to actually go through with it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean growls. He sounds angry, but Sam can hear the shame in his voice. “What Sam and I do is none of your business.” 

“Well, I’m bored. So I’m making it my business,” Ruby says brightly. “We need something to do while we wait for Sleeping Sammy over there to wake up.”

“Don’t call him that,” Dean snaps, and Sam would smile if he could without giving himself away.

Ruby leans forward conspiratorially. “Tell me, Dean...was it all you hoped for? That’s one fine ass, I have to admit. I wouldn’t mind finding a new meatsuit and tapping that myself.” 

“Go fuck yourself, bitch,” Dean replies sullenly. 

“I could do that,” Ruby says agreeably. “But I’d much rather watch you fuck Sam. Or would you rather do it the other way around this time?” Her voice drops to a confidential whisper. “You know, I was poking around in his head, and he’s been waiting for you to get your head out of your ass and into his for _years_. Pity you waited so long--only a few months left before your trip downstairs.”

“Don’t talk about my brother like that. Don’t you fucking dare--” The rage in Dean’s voice should be terrifying, but Ruby just laughs scornfully. 

“Or you’ll do what, Dean? You can’t even get out of your chair. Sam’s the one who asked for you to be tied up, you know. I was surprised--I thought it would take you two a while to get to the kinky stuff!” 

Dean makes a frustrated sound. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from us? You already told me you can’t save me--why are you even _here_?

“Well, that’s the best part, Dean! Sam called me--summoned me, actually. Never should have given him my real name, it’s damned inconvenient.” She shrugs carelessly. “But what can you do? The important part is that he offered me a deal to find you and bring you back. You know, if you hadn’t left, he might not have ever called me. I really owe you one, big guy.”

Sam can picture the smug look on her face. Whatever she did to him before must be wearing off, because he feels better than he has in months--stronger, more focused. He can feel her blood singing along every nerve, begging to be used, and he's sure he can take her with the element of surprise on his side. He just needs to get his hand on the knife. 

“A deal?” Dean sounds shocked and angry. “You’re lying. Sam would never make a deal with you or any other demon.”

Ruby laughs again. “You’d be surprised, Dean-o. Turns out that with the right incentive--say, for example, never seeing or hearing from his brother again--Sam will do a lot of things no one would expect. He’s agreed to let me teach him how to use his powers so he can defeat Lilith when she comes for you. And to amp up his powers with my blood.” She pauses, and Sam tenses, tries to keep his breathing even.

“But don’t take my word for it. Let’s ask Sam instead.”

Sam curses mentally, angry at himself for not acting sooner. He doesn’t try to deny he’s awake, just sits up, glaring at the demon standing casually next to his brother. 

“You got what you came for, Ruby,” Sam says tightly. “Get out of here so Dean and I can talk.” 

“Not going to happen, Sammy,” Ruby says, all playfulness dropping from her voice. “Dean needs to understand this was your choice, your decision. I don’t want to have to worry about a knife in the back every time we have a little ‘session’.”

Sam risks a glance at Dean, unsure of what he’ll find. Dean’s pale, shocked face surprises him until he remembers what he must look like. He flushes, embarrassed by the blood he can still feel drying on his face and shirt, but drinks in the sight of his brother, safe and unharmed if a little worse for the wear. But he doesn’t seem to be hurt, only angry. 

“Dean--”

“Is it true, Sammy?” Dean sounds devastated. “Did you call her up, did you ask for this?” Dean twists in the chair, unable to move more than a few inches. 

Sam looks away from Dean, then back, determined not to be ashamed of what he had to do. “I did what I had to, Dean,” he says quietly. “I didn’t have time to waste hunting you down. I couldn’t risk not finding you in time.”

Dean’s lips thin. “If I wanted to be found, I wouldn’t have left, Sam.” He turns his head, but that just brings Ruby back into view. “And really? That--” his mouth twists in disgust--” _that_ is what you’re willing to do?” 

“When I said anything, I meant it, Dean,” Sam says, refusing to be baited. He stands up, staggering a bit on unsteady legs, clutching the demon killing knife in one hand. Ruby watches as he catches his balance, smirking.

“Sam was very eager,” she tells Dean helpfully, eyes glinting with malice. “Maybe a bit _too_ eager, actually--I think he’s in over his head right now, too much all at once isn’t good for you. Too bad he has no idea how to use all that power--but that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

Dean strains uselessly against the ropes holding him to the chair, snarling soundlessly. Sam ignores him for now. He’ll either come around or he won’t, but Sam has more immediate concerns. 

Sam takes a step forward, toward Dean, then another. Even falling apart, his brother is still achingly beautiful, and all Sam can think about is how much he wants to kiss him. Dean watches him with eyes like flint, no hint of emotion other than disgust and anger. Sam stops in front of Dean, their knees nearly touching. Ruby watches them both, sneering as she leans down to whisper in Dean’s ear. Sam can’t hear her words over the pounding of his heart, but Dean’s face twists like he’s in pain.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Sam,” Dean says coldly when she stands up again. Sam just nods, expecting nothing less. He turns toward Ruby, shoulders dropping in defeat. 

“I guess this is it, then,” he says quietly. 

“Aw, Sammy...don’t take it so hard,” Ruby says, batting her eyes as she sways forward to put a hand on his chest in mock seduction. “We don’t need him--I’m sure we can have lots of fun together on our own.”

“Sure,” Sam agrees, and he moves quicker than thought, quicker than he knew he could-- but not quite quick enough to bury the knife he's holding in her heart. Her eyes go black with rage as she slams him against the wall with an angry gesture then stalks closer until her face is inches from his.

“Did you _really_ think you could take me, you stupid, inconsequential _human_?” She spits the final word like a curse. “Did you really--” She stops, body caught in a tight arch, mouth dropping open in pain. 

“Yes,” Sam grinds out, teeth clenched, “I really did.” He fights harder, forcing the knife deeper into her chest inch by slow and painful inch. Blood drips from her mouth as she weakens, matching the blood that’s started flowing over Sam's mouth and chin. His vision narrows to the black of her eyes, the throb in his head growing stronger as he gives a final push that feels like it rips his mind apart. He sees the lights under her skin flash and burn furiously through a haze of pain and blood, then they both fall to the ground as he releases her. Dean is shouting his name from far away, but Sam can't really hear anything through the agony in his head.

Sam’s jeans are soaked with blood when he finally lifts his head. He’s shivering with pain and adrenaline, but there’s triumph underneath it all as he stands carefully, crossing the room to kneel in front of his brother. 

“Please stay, Dean,” he says softly as he begins to saw at the ropes. “I need you. Please.”

Dean just stares at him for a moment, shocked. Emotions flit over his face too quickly for Sam to follow before settling on confusion. “Why, Sam? Why go through all this to bring me back after what I did?” His face twists again, self loathing wiping out everything else. “How can you even look at me?”

“Because you’re my brother and I love you,” Sam says simply. “Because I wanted everything you did that night. I was awake from the first moment you touched me, but I wanted you so badly, for so long. I selfishly let you think you were taking advantage of me because I was afraid if you knew I was awake you’d never touch me again.”

It’s not often Dean is speechless. Sam lets him process everything as he works on cutting the ropes still tying him to the chair. When Sam’s done, Dean rubs his wrists slowly, rolling his shoulders to loosen the stiff joints. Sam collapses wearily on the bed, wiping his hands and face on one of the pillows as he gives Dean some room. Dean flushes and looks away, unable to meet Sam’s eyes as they both remember what happened just a few days before. He looks at the door longingly, the idea of running still a clear temptation, but Sam doesn’t say anything. 

Finally Dean breaks the silence. “This is really fucked up, Sam,” he says, low and pained. “Whether you wanted it or not, I didn’t know and I did it anyway. That’s just...and you let me. You let me think that I was hurting you.” He looks at Sam at last. “How do we come back from that?”

Sam shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he says helplessly. “But we have to try. I can’t lose you, Dean. I can’t.” He stands up, approaching Dean cautiously. Dean doesn’t move away, just stares up at Sam with a trapped expression. Sam can see the pulse in his throat fluttering wildly but he doesn’t run. “I was hoping...maybe we could just try to accept that we’re both fucked up in some really weird ways that work together pretty well? We both want things we shouldn’t, but they’re the same things, and honestly fucked up is kind of the Winchester way.” 

Sam lifts one hand slowly, carefully, giving Dean time to object if he’s going to. Dean pulls in a deep, shuddery breath but doesn’t move, eyes wide and dark and fixed on Sam with a mix of anguish, dread and hope. His eyes slip shut when Sam’s hand touches his cheek, brushing over the freckles standing out starkly against his pallor. 

“Sam…” It’s a breath, hardly there, but it’s all Sam needs. He folds himself around Dean, tucking his face into Dean’s shoulder the way he’s done his whole life and Dean barely hesitates before wrapping him up, the way he’s done Sam’s whole life. It’s not perfect, but it’s them. 

Sam can live with that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is back and Ruby is dead. But where do they go from here?

For a long moment Sam just clings to his brother, relief that they aren't completely broken sweeping through him. He craves Dean’s touch after the distance between them, needs the familiar reassurance of being wrapped in Dean’s arms after the soul-crushing fear that he’d never see him again. And if the way Dean is holding onto him means anything, Dean needs that reassurance just as badly. 

But ‘no chick flick moments’ is still the rule they live by, and there’s too much to be done for Sam to argue when Dean sighs and pushes Sam back gently. Sam wants to protest, but he knows Dean’s right--he’s covered in blood, there’s a dead body on the floor, and he kinda doubts that Ruby drove Dean here so they’re going to need to find the car at some point. But he can’t quite bring himself to walk away, not when Dean is smiling tentatively at him from mere inches away. Not when Dean’s hands are on Sam’s hips and Dean’s lips are soft and pink and _right there._

It’s the taste of blood, foul and lingering in his mouth and throat, that keeps Sam from closing that distance. He’s never wanted anything more than he wants to kiss Dean, but the thought of doing so with Ruby’s blood still coating his mouth makes Sam slightly ill. He steps back instead, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from touching Dean the way he wants to. He can’t right now. Not until he’s _clean_.

Dean flushes when Sam steps away, rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when he’s embarrassed. “Why don’t you go shower, Sammy. Get cleaned up. And I’ll take care of _this_.” He scowls down at the body on the carpet, and Sam’s pretty sure he’d like to kick it. 

“Yeah, I should do that.” Sam hesitates, hoping he doesn’t sound as pathetic and needy to Dean as he does to himself. “You’ll still be here when I get out?” 

Dean looks at him steadily, not quite smiling. “I’m not going anywhere without you,” he says quietly, forcefully. “We’re gonna figure this out together. Now go.” Dean turns away pointedly and starts stripping the comforter and sheets off one of the beds, tossing them on the floor near Ruby but out of the congealing blood. 

Sam stays where he is for a few moments, happy just to be able to watch his brother openly. But the blood drying thick and tacky on his skin and the promise of what might be to come drags him back to what needs to be done. Smiling slightly, he pulls a bottle of Tylenol out of his duffle before stepping into the bathroom, suddenly aware that his head is still throbbing from the aftermath of what he’d done to Ruby. 

But when the door closes behind him and Sam catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the guilt and horror of what he’s done crashes over him again. He grabs his toothbrush with an unsteady hand, scrubbing the taste of Ruby’s blood from his mouth. He follows it up with mouthwash, then brushes again, convinced he can still taste sulphurous, rotting meat on his tongue. He only stops when his gums are bleeding fresh copper into his mouth and throws away the toothbrush he’d used, faintly sickened by the frothy red swirls in the sink as he washes them away. He strips off his bloody clothes, unable to bear the touch of them on his skin any longer. They get tossed in the corner to be burned later, then he turns on the shower, swallowing a handful of little white pills and stepping into the shower even before the water warms.

The water sluices over him, pooling red then pink then clear around his feet as he watches. He doesn’t want to think about what he did, but the memories won’t leave--the taste of her blood, the feeling of power and rage and vicious triumph. It's impossible not to imagine Ruby’s blood moving inside him, carving out new spaces for evil to live. Impossible not to remember how _good_ it felt to finally be able to strike a genuine blow against their enemies. Impossible not to wonder if the answer he’s been looking for has been right here in front of him all along. Sam shakes his head, stomach roiling at the thought of doing it again. He can’t. He _won’t._

It’s not til Dean bangs on the door, demanding to know _what’re you doing in there Sam did you drown_ what he’s doing that Sam reluctantly turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He still doesn’t feel _clean_ , but at this point he’s not sure that will ever happen. He dries off quickly, haphazardly, and wraps the threadbare towel around his waist before stepping out into the cool motel room. 

But things are different now. He hadn’t considered, yet, just how very different until he sees Dean’s face. Surprise, desire, want--the heat in Dean’s eyes sets off an answering warmth in Sam, drawing him closer. Sam’s eyes catch on Dean’s parted lips, and the overwhelming urge to kiss him is back, along with a hint of jealousy--Dean knows what Sam tastes like, in the most intimate ways, and Sam _wants_ to know the same about Dean. He takes another slow step toward Dean, giving him time to turn away, but Dean just watches him with wide eyes. It takes a moment for Sam to realize that Dean’s tracking a drop of water as it rolls down his chest and soaks into the worn thin towel wrapped around his waist. It hits him hard, that Dean is letting himself look, that he’s not turning away from what’s between them, and Sam doesn’t hesitate again. He steps right into Dean’s space, not quite pressed against him, forcing Dean to look up. A thrill runs through him, hot and possessive, as Dean seems to realize it too, eyes widening slightly as he realizes just how far he has to look. His tongue slips out cat quick over his lower lip, eyes going dark as he meets Sam’s eyes. 

That’s all the invitation Sam needs.

For an instant--an eternity--Dean doesn’t kiss Sam back. Then, just as Sam thinks he’s ruined everything, Dean melts against him, one hand tangling in Sam’s damply curling hair as he tugs Sam more firmly into the kiss. It’s slow and easy, just a gentle press of lips that could almost be chaste. Sam licks over the seam of Dean’s lips, not above begging, and Dean opens for him with a soft moan, suddenly eager. The sound burns through Sam, his hunger taking on a sudden, heated life of it’s own. He cups Dean’s face with one hand, stroking greedily over his cheek before sliding down to burrow under layers of cotton and flannel and find soft warm skin. Dean moans again, presses into Sam, his mouth opening wider as Sam licks his way in again and again. Sam drags Dean closer until he can feel the thick line of Dean’s cock against his own, hot and hard even through his jeans. Dean shudders against him, one hand tight in Sam’s hair, the other at the small of his back like a brand against Sam’s bare skin as they move against each other, chasing the maddening, not quite enough friction until Sam finally has to pull back, gasping. Dean doesn’t relinquish his hold on Sam, just leans into him so that every breath is like a feather light touch against Sam’s kiss-swollen lips, every flutter of his eyelashes a butterfly kiss on Sam’s cheek. Sam closes his eyes and just breathes Dean in as he tries to calm his racing heart.

It's Dean who breaks the silence. “I don't want to die,” he whispers into the scant space between them. “I don't want to die and I don't want to go to Hell.” He shivers, and Sam pulls him closer instinctively, needing the comfort just as much as Dean.

“Then we'll save you,” Sam whispers back, a secret, a prayer. He remembers how he felt with Ruby's blood rushing through him, the exhilaration and rage and triumph of defeating her. _Only if I have to,_ he tells himself grimly. “Whatever it takes, Dean,” he promises softly. He can’t hide the darkness in his words and his voice, steady and determined. “We'll save you, whatever it takes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to write one more chapter after this one, I think, then I need to take a break and fulfill some other writing obligations. Sorry for the delay on this one!


End file.
